Outlaws from the past, old gray hair men today,
Exploring on Harley Davidson"s, mind entertaining down highways.
Hair blowing in the wind, their noses on the white lines,
Riding their Harley's, feeling freedom every time.
The old ladies, may have holes in their jeans,
The Harley Davidson, always a clean machine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem